


a mighty ocean or a gentle kiss

by shrimpheavnnow



Series: there's no hand on the reign [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, No beta we die like mne, Protective Miya Osamu, feelings are hard guys, the twins got each other's BACKS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrimpheavnnow/pseuds/shrimpheavnnow
Summary: Dark eyes assess him. The silence is definitely stifling. Finally: "You've been looking."Atsumu grips the strap of his bag tight enough it digs into his skin. Swallows. Licks his lips. "Kinda have to, 's my job to know where everyone — ""No." And he's walking closer, his own bag slung over his shoulder. Stops right in front of Atsumu. "You've beenlooking."There's no point in continuing to play dumb. Atsumu lifts his chin. "Yeah? So?"Even without the mask, Omi is nigh unreadable, so Atsumu has no chance in figuring out what he's thinking with it on. "Let me know if you want to do more," he says, and then steps around Atsumu and walks away, leaving Atsumu stuck, mouth agape.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: there's no hand on the reign [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030074
Comments: 35
Kudos: 353
Collections: my babies





	a mighty ocean or a gentle kiss

**Author's Note:**

> ahahaha i don't know anything about these two but uh. here we are folks !! i wrote this in one sitting which i do not recommend doing 
> 
> uhhhhhh i kinda tried something different than how i usually write, and idk how i feel about it yet tbh, but it was fun to write!! still not super familiar w japanese naming conventions etc so apologies if i fuck that up
> 
> a quick warning -- idk if this needs to be tagged, but near the end, there's a paragraph that starts with " 'Want you to -- " and ends with "awkward conversations" and during that atsumu talks about what he wants and calls himself fucked up for wanting that -- just wanted to clarify that some of what he wants falls under kink but he doesn't know that n he's never explored that aspect, nor is he in that kinda relationship. just wanted to put it out there in case someone might feel bad about it!!

It starts with a lingering glance. 

Atsumu can't help himself — Omi's on _fire_ today, absolutely breathtaking, and Atsumu is only human. It's hard not to stare, harder to tear his gaze away, and he lingers too long near the end of practice because Omi stares back at him. 

Atsumu smirks, because that's his default setting. Omi raises an eyebrow. Tilts his head. Atsumu looks away. 

_Fuck_ , he thinks. 

*** 

Their lockers are next to each other, which means Omi's standing next to him as they both get ready to leave, grabbing their bags. The room is silent, everyone else having left. Atsumu can't decide if the silence is stifling or comforting. 

He turns on his heel and offers a parting, "See ya, Omi-kun!" over his shoulder, shooting him a grin, but stops when Omi says: "Miya." 

"Yeah?" he says, forcing the smile to stay on his face even as his mind goes into overdrive trying to anticipate what's next. This isn't routine. 

Dark eyes assess him. The silence is definitely stifling. Finally: "You've been looking." 

Atsumu grips the strap of his bag tight enough it digs into his skin. Swallows. Licks his lips. "Kinda have to, 's my job to know where everyone — " 

"No." And he's walking closer, his own bag slung over his shoulder. Stops right in front of Atsumu. "You've been _looking_." 

There's no point in continuing to play dumb. Atsumu lifts his chin. "Yeah? So?" 

Even without the mask, Omi is nigh unreadable, so Atsumu has no chance in figuring out what he's thinking with it on. "Let me know if you want to do more," he says, and then steps around Atsumu and walks away, leaving Atsumu stuck, mouth agape.

***

It takes three days of Omi pretending nothing had happened before Atsumu cracks. The thought of confronting Omi head-on is a little too much, so instead, he pulls out his phone and texts: 

_what would more look like_

He doesn't get a response until he's almost ready for bed, and when he does he almost chokes on his toothpaste. 

_We fuck. No strings._

_Well. Asked and answered_ , Atsumu thinks.

***

"Tsumu. For fuck's sake. This is a _bad idea_." 

" 'S no strings though, Samu!" 

"He's your _teammate_." 

"He's _hot_ . And him bein' my teammate is a _plus_ , we can fuck more often." 

"I know you've got at least two brain cells — mind usin' at least one, just for the sake of novelty? This is _stupid_ , even for you." 

" 'M not gonna get attached or anythin'! It's just for fun. Blow off some steam." 

"Why'd ya even bother callin' me when you're not gonna take any of my advice? Christ. Fine. _Fine_. But when this shit blows up in yer face, I'm gonna be standin' there laughin' my ass off in your ugly face." 

***

_okay_

_when do you wanna meet up_

_I'll let you know. I will come to your place._

_sounds good_

*** 

"Oh — oh, _fuck_ , Omi, I — harder," Atsumu gasps, elbows on the couch's armrest, head hanging low, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Knew you'd be loud," Omi grunts, gripping Atsumu's hips tighter, lifting them a little, thrusting even harder. 

Atsumu moans, arching his back as the change in angle means Omi's nailing his prostate with every thrust. "You been — _ah_ — been thinkin' bout how I'd be in bed, Omi-kun?" he pants, trying for a smirk as he looks over his shoulder. "I — " The next thrust has Atsumu throwing his head back, cutting himself off with a strangled cry. 

"Talk too much," Omi says right against the skin of Atsumu's neck, following the words with a nip.

*** 

"Day one: done. Still doin' great. You need to quit worryin', 'Samu, gonna get wrinkles." 

"It is. Two in the _fuckin'_ morning right now. And you called me. To gloat about _having sex_?" 

"No, I'm tellin' you you ain't gotta worry! I got it all handled! Didn't feel _anything_ , so don't worry 'bout me gettin' attached, okay?" 

"Yeah, _one night_ is definitely a great way to figure out how all the rest of 'em are gonna go. Whatever, 'Tsumu, 'm goin' back to sleep." 

" _Someone_ sounds bitter they're wrong." 

"Fuck you." 

"Yeah, g'night, 'Samu." 

***

The next morning, Atsumu greets him with the usual, "Morning, Omi-kun!" and Omi responds with the usual nod. 

Practice runs as usual — Hinata asking, "One more time," Bokuto trying to wheedle some poor sap into helping him practice his spikes, Omi offering nothing when Atsumu's sets are good and offering criticism when they aren't. 

Regularly scheduled programming, really. 

And if Atsumu's gaze still lingers, if he feels the pressure of fingertips against his hips, the graze of teeth against his neck, the weight of dark eyes pinning him down — well, that's nobody's business but his own. 

*** 

He braces his arm up against the armrest, head tilted back as Omi fingers him slowly, the occasional soft groan escaping him whenever the curl of Omi's fingers gets to him. 

"You're loose," Omi says after a moment, adding a third finger. "Took longer to open you up last time. Did you finger yourself in the shower?" 

"I — " He inhales sharply at a particularly forceful thrust, glaring at where Omi is between his legs because he _knows_ Omi did that on purpose; the pleased lilt of his mouth confirms that. "Asshole. Yeah, I, uh." He doesn't know why he's so embarrassed to admit it. "Did, earlier." Because getting Omi's text asking if he was free tonight had gotten him horny so fast, he hadn't been able to help himself. 

Omi huffs out a laugh. Pulls his fingers out, lines himself up, and pushes in. Pauses for a moment, bending so that he's able to hum right next to Atsumu's ear, take the lobe into his mouth and tug. "Eager," he says, and grinds into Atsumu a little. Atsumu chokes out _Fuck_ , and Omi continues, voice dropping lower: "Or maybe desperate?" 

Atsumu clenches, a small frustrated whine escaping him when he realizes Omi isn't letting him _move_ , isn't fucking him. "Omi, _more_." 

"You know how to ask for things you want, don't you?" 

_Fuck you_ , is on Atsumu's tongue, but he realizes that he doesn't _want_ to try and out-stubborn Omi, not here, not now. Not when — when Omi's _right_ , that he _is_ a little desperate. So, instead, he licks his bottom lip. Says, cheeks burning, "Please, Omi, fuck me." 

The way Omi's eyes widen, hips jerking as if unintentional, the sharp inhalation — Atsumu decides letting go of his pride for three words was worth it. 

***

"Fuck, 'Samu, we've had so much shit to do Omi hasn't even texted me in a week. I'm _dyin'_ here, and it's all 'cause of these stupid commercials and interviews and shit." 

"So, why don'tcha text him and ask?" 

"I — what?" 

"Text Sakusa. Why're you waiting for him to text you first? You in junior high waitin' for your crush to text you first or somethin'?" 

"Fuck off. I just — that's not how it works." 

"Says who?" 

"Me. Says me. It's — I don't wanna bother — it's nothing. Drop it." 

"...Tsumu." 

" _Drop it_." 

"So, what, he can use you however and whenever he wants but you won't even — " 

"Bye! Pleasure talkin' to ya, as always." 

*** 

_Today. 7. Does that work?_

Atsumu looks at the clock. It's twelve on a rare off-day. He'd been thinking about taking up Bokuto and Hinata on their invitation to go out and get some ramen for dinner, but he quickly sends out a _sorry guys cant come with u (╥﹏╥)_ to Bokuto and Hinata, subsequently ignoring their sad texts before replying to Omi: _sure_

The fact that he hadn't even really thought before cancelling his other plans for Omi hits him five minutes later, as he's fixing himself lunch. He pauses, staring down at his rice. 

It's just because he hasn't had sex in a while. He can eat ramen anytime, but getting fucked is harder to do.

He ignores the uneasiness taking seed in his gut, growing with every passing moment; blocks out the voice in his that sounds a lot like Osamu saying, _Told you it was a bad fuckin' idea_.

***

As usual, Omi barely waits for the door to be shut before he's on Atsumu, but this time, Atsumu stops him with a hand on his chest. 

The confused frown on Omi's face as he looks between Atsumu's hand and face is almost — _cute_. 

"As much as I love how badly ya want me," Atsumu says — Omi rolls his eyes, scoffing — with a smirk, "how 'bout we make it to an actual bed this time, huh? Fucking against walls and on couches is great, but I'm gettin' old, Omi-kun, my back would prefer a bed. I changed the sheets right before ya got here, so don't worry about that." 

"Didn't realize how delicate you were, Miya," Omi says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Omi-kun, you gotta _pay attention_ , then," Atsumu says, holding his hand to his chest. "I'm hurt that you haven't been." 

Rolling his eyes again, Omi gestures at the apartment in general. "Lead the way." 

And Atsumu does, dimming the lights but not turning them off in his bedroom, quickly stripping down and lying on the bed, propped up on his elbow, watching as Omi strips — quick, efficient; it's almost as if he's ignoring the fact Atsumu's even _there_.

No, not ignoring. 

It's as if he hasn't even _registered_ it. 

_So fuckin' what_ , he thinks, ignoring the twinge in his chest. _If you want a strip tease, go to a club._

Omi walks toward him, no hint of self-consciousness, and pushes at Atsumu's chest to flatten him to the bed before situating himself on top on his hands and knees, looking down at Atsumu. "Comfortable now, Miya?" 

"As snug as a bug," Atsumu says, grinning up at him. 

"Good," he says, and leans down to kiss Atsumu's neck, "because we might be here a while." 

"I don't mind," Atsumu breathes out, biting his lip. 

*** 

"I think…" 

"Sounds fake." 

"Shut up. I think… you were right." 

"...Are you dying?" 

"Shut up! I'm just sayin' I think you were right. 'bout it bein' a bad idea. Maybe. A little bit. Not a lot, okay. Just a little bit." 

"... _Fuck_ , Tsumu. Really? Attached already?" 

"It's not — 'm not _attached_. Just. Could be gettin' there." 

"So yer gonna break it of." 

"..." 

"Tell me yer gonna break it off, Tsumu." 

"I'm… gonna break if off?" 

"Everyday, I think you can't get any fuckin' stupider, and everyday, you prove me wrong." 

"What can I say? I'm an overachiever." 

"...Be careful." 

"You know me, 'Samu. Always am." 

"Yeah, dumbass. The problem is that I _do_ know you." 

*** 

It isn't attachment. He isn't attached. He just — likes Omi, as a friend. That's it. If he's attached at all, it's a _platonic_ attachment, really, and Osamu can't get on his case about that because _he's_ the one who was always telling Atsumu to try and stop being an asshole, make more friends. 

That's what Omi is. A friend. Doesn't matter that Atsumu barely knows anything about Omi outside of how he likes his sets and what he sounds like when he comes; doesn't matter that he's never seen Omi smile, _really_ smile, not one of his smug little smirks; doesn't matter that they've never just sat down and _talked_ , just the two of them. 

Doesn't matter that Atsumu desperately, wholeheartedly wants to change all that because he's seen glimpses of what might lay underneath, of who Omi is, and what he's seen — rare moments where his eyes soften when he looks at Atsumu; where he lets out a sincere, if small laugh at what the others are doing; the effort he seems to try to put into bonding with his teammates, even though it probably makes his skin crawl — makes him want to dig deeper. Learn more. 

That isn't even factoring in what Atsumu _does_ know about him — how hard he works, how determined he is, how passionate about what he loves. How insanely talented he is. 

Atsumu passes by the produce aisle, lost in his thoughts, and then doubles back only to stop when he spots disinfectant wipes on sale, the brand that Omi seems to like best. Right next to it is a bottle of hand sanitizer, also the brand Omi likes best. Atsumu grins, goes to grab both because it'd be nice to have them next time Omi comes over; he wonders if Omi would notice that Atsumu — 

He freezes, hand outstretched, eyes widening. 

Well, fuck. 

*** 

"Wanna ride you," Atsumu says as Omi climbs on top of him, and he curls his hands into Omi's hair, tugging gently, loving how soft it is. 

"Okay," Omi says, and he goes for Atsumu's neck, as he usually does, but Atsumu tugs again and brings their mouths together. It isn't that Omi refuses to kiss Atsumu; he just seems to avoid kissing Atsumu on the mouth. 

He hums against Omi, tilting his head, swiping his tongue against Omi's lips to ask, and Omi lets him — opens up, and Atsumu groans. Omi starts fucking his mouth, pressing him further into the bed, and Atsumu grinds up, needing some friction, gasping when Omi nips at his bottom lip, tugs. Omi makes to move away, but Atsumu makes a protesting noise, pulls him back with the hands in his hair, and Omi indulges him for a few seconds before pulling away again. 

"Thought you wanted to ride me?" Omi says, and pride zings through Atsumu at the fact that he sounds a little breathless. 

"You in a rush?" Atsumu asks, running his hand down the front of Omi's neck, bringing it back up to trace his jaw. "Got a hot date?" 

"Yes. With my bed." 

_You could stay here. With me_ , Atsumu doesn't say aloud because no matter what Osamu thinks, he isn't a _complete_ idiot. 

"Sounds sexy," Atsumu says, and before Omi can respond, Atsumu tugs him down to kiss him again, only letting him go when he starts feeling breathless himself. Nudges at Omi's chest to signal he should move before rummaging in his drawer for a condom, lube. 

When he turns back, Omi's lying on his back, eyes locked onto Atsumu, but Atsumu shakes his head. "No, want you sitting against the headboard."

Brow furrowing, Omi asks, "Why?" 

_Because I wanna be able to properly kiss you while you fuck me. Wanna hold you._ "Saw it in porn," Atsumu lies, "thought it looked hot." 

"Of course," Omi scoffs, but he acquiesces anyway and Atsumu crawls toward him before straddling his lap, Omi's hands coming to rest on his hips. 

Tossing the condom onto the sheets, Atsumu uncaps the lube only for Omi to reach for it. Atsumu pulls it back and shakes his head, saying, " 'S okay. I'll open myself up," because he knows Omi would take too long, would try and tease, and Atsumu — Atsumu needs him inside _now_. 

So he pours the lube onto his fingers, reaching behind himself, biting his lip, eyes fluttering shut as he inserts the first, making quick work of getting himself used to it before adding another. Groaning softly, he opens his eyes to find Omi _right there_ , gaze heavy, rooting Atsumu in place, making it impossible to look away, and he gasps, not because of the drag of his fingers but because he feels _seen_. 

The view probably leaves a lot to be desired. 

So he dives forward, trying to get away, kissing Omi again and again. He adds a third finger, nudges it against his prostate, and moans into Omi's mouth, moaning louder when it makes Omi curl a hand into Atsumu's hair, pull closer. 

" 'm — I'm ready, need the condom," Atsumu gasps, leaning back just far enough to grab the condom, wincing as he takes his fingers out. As quickly as he can, he puts the condom on Omi and slicks him up with lube before positioning his cock at his entrance, slowly sinking down, head tilted back and mouth falling open. " _Omi_ ," he whines when he's taken it all in, eyes squeezed shut. " _God_ , Omi." 

Omi's fingertips are pressed into Atsumu's hips, and Omi keeps pressing harder. "You need to start moving, Miya." 

So Atsumu braces himself against Omi's shoulders and circles his hips, getting used to the feeling, rises up a bit and sinks back down, keeps doing it until it's just the tip at his entrance before he slams back down. 

" _Fuck_ ," Omi grits out, and Atsumu can barely _breathe_ but he still curls a hand into Omi's hair, leans forward, kisses him again and again and again as he cries out, as he babbles out nonsense, until all they're really doing is panting into each other's mouths, and it hits Atsumu then: 

_I'm falling in love with him_. 

*** 

"So y'know that whole 'I'm gettin' to a place where I might be attached' thing?" 

"God _dammit_ , 'Tsumu." 

"No, no, I've got good news, 'Samu, 'cause we don't need to worry 'bout that anymore. I drove past it and waved goodbye in the side view mirror. 'm currently pretty sure I'm fallin' in love with the asshole." 

"Is that supposed to make me feel _better_ ?! I fuckin' — you never _listen_." 

"I know. _Fuck_. I know. I shoulda." 

"Yeah, you shoulda listened to me." 

"Wanna know what's funny?" 

"I have a feeling this ain't gonna be funny." 

"He still calls me Miya. We've been doin' this for almost six months, and he still calls me _Miya_ in bed. Can you fuckin' believe it?" 

"Yeah, wasn't funny, 'Tsumu."

"...I don't know what to do." 

"Leave." 

"I — is it pathetic that I still wanna keep doin' this so I have at least _somethin_ '?"

"Yeah. Very. And you deserve better." 

"Well, this is what I got." 

"'Tsumu. You know this ain't healthy." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." 

*** 

In some universe, maybe there's an Atsumu who decides to go through with what the mature, healthy thing to do would be: sit down and tell Omi what was going on, be honest, communicate. Put it all out there, unworried about the inevitable rejection completely shattering him. 

This isn't that universe. 

Maybe it's pride, maybe it's fear, maybe it's cowardice — maybe it's all three, who the fuck knows. All Atsumu knows is the idea of telling Omi that he's in _love_ with him, when he knows there is no outcome here except Omi telling him to get the fuck out, makes him want to throw up. Wouldn't that be something — confess, then throw up all over Omi. Bet he'd love that. 

Discarding the idea of confessing, the next best thing is to break it off, but he hadn't been lying when he'd told Osamu that a pathetically large part of him wants to cling to whatever he can keep. Selfishly horde any crumbs of affection, even if all of it is just physical. He knows Omi will never feel anything else for him, so he has to take what he can get and quietly covet everything else. 

So, no, Atsumu _won't_ be telling Omi anything. Letting go of his pride to utter those three words wouldn't be worth _shit_. 

*** 

Omi pins his wrists above his head and Atsumu arches, testing Omi's grip and trying to get more friction against his cock. "You planning on fuckin' me anytime this year?" 

"Was thinking of blowing you, instead, but if you don't want that…" Omi says, raising an eyebrow. 

Atsumu bites his lip, debating how to say what he's thinking aloud without actually saying it aloud, and the longer he's silent, the further up Omi's other eyebrow travels until he's looking down at Atsumu with surprise. "Miya?" 

God, he fucking _hates_ it when Omi calls him that. 

"Want you to — fuck me," he says, and he doesn't say it's because he wants Omi to come first, to come because _Atsumu_ made him do so, because Omi used _his_ body, because he's _good_ at being used; he's pretty sure that's a little fucked up and would make for some awkward conversation. 

"Okay," Omi says, unbothered. "I'm not going to complain." 

"I'd be offended if ya did," Atsumu says, and Omi — Omi smiles at him. 

There's no trace of sarcasm or condescension or amusement or teasing. It's just — a smile. And he's looking at Atsumu like — like he's _fond_ , eyes almost warm, and Atsumu can barely breathe. Can barely think. And when he _can_ breathe, what comes out of his mouth is: "God, I love you." 

He doesn't realize he's said it aloud until Omi goes still, expression shuttering, and Atsumu tries to swallow down the panic but can't. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't — I'm sorry, Omi, I didn't mean that — " But they both know it's a lie. 

Omi lets go of his wrists and leans back, looking down at Atsumu with no expression. Nothing. Just blankness. 

Atsumu thinks that might be worse than if Omi got angry, laughed at him, because at least then — at least then it would mean Omi _felt_ something, anything, for Atsumu, but this. This means Atsumu didn't even warrant _any_ feeling, right? 

"I think," Omi says, flat, "I should leave." And he makes to get up, out of bed. 

Before he can stop himself, Atsumu sits up, reaches out to grab Omi's wrist, pleads, "Omi, please don't go," and he hates how his voice cracks when he says Omi's name, hates that his vision is getting blurrier by the second, because this is his _own fault_ , this is on him. 

Omi doesn't say anything. Just stares at the grip Atsumu has on his wrist, and Atsumu relinquishes it, watches as Omi quickly puts his clothes back on, avoiding eye contact with Atsumu. Pretending he isn't there. 

He gets it now — why people describe it as a heart being _shattered_ , because he can feel every jagged piece piercing his chest, his lungs; feels like they've travelled up his throat. 

It hurts. It _hurts_. He didn't think it would, this much. 

Omi doesn't look at him before leaving, and Atsumu stays sitting in the middle of the bed, staring at the door, trying to breathe past the glass in his throat. 

He looks for his phone and, with shaky hands, types out: _i fucked up_

***

Atsumu isn't sure how long it is before the front door opens. He'd moved out of his bedroom and onto the couch. The TV's on, but he doesn't know what channel it is, let alone what's happening in the show; he's just staring at his hands. 

"Here," Osamu says, holding out a bag of onigiri. 

Atsumu takes it, unable to look up, and puts it down on the coffee table. Osamu sits down next to him. The silence isn't charged, but anticipatory nonetheless. 

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Osamu says after a bit. 

"I accidentally told him I loved him. He left. Didn't even say anything except that he had to leave," Atsumu intones. He finally looks at Osamu, and he knows the smirk on his face doesn't sit right. "This is your time to say I told ya so. Wasn't there something about laughing in my ugly face when this all blew up? Well." He spreads his arms, letting out a sharp burst of laughter. "Now's the time, 'Samu." 

Osamu's expression would almost be serene, if not for the way his jaw muscle kept jumping. "I'm gonna beat the shit outta him." 

"'S not his fault," Atsumu says, dropping his arms and hunching over. "'S mine. He made it clear. I broke the rules."

"He coulda at least been less of a piece of _shit_ about it," Osamu hisses. 

"He didn't do anything wrong, 'Samu." 

"Yeah, well, _he's_ not my fuckin' brother, is he, so I could not give _less_ of a shit." A pause, as Osamu breathes in. Out. "You got practice tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Atsumu says. 

"Say you're sick." 

"No," Atsumu says, shaking his head. "I'll just end up fuckin'. Wallowin' or some shit. Better I actually do something productive. 'Sides, got two off-days after that." 

"Say you're sick," Osamu says, and Atsumu hears bag rustling and turns to see Osamu pulling out a bottle of whiskey, "because we're getting drunk." 

Atsumu lets out a small laugh. "Well, when ya put it that way." 

*** 

He can feel a pair of eyes on him, and he's pretty sure he knows who they belong to. 

He refuses to look, though. 

It's his first day back, and things are weird enough the team has started to notice. It hasn't affected play, but the radio silence between Omi and Atsumu seems to be putting the others on edge. 

Speaking of others: Atsumu tries not to sigh as he sees Shoyo try to 'subtly' approach. "Hey, Atsumu-san," he says when he gets close, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his toes. "Did you… did you and Sakusa-san have a fight?" 

"Nope," Atsumu says. 

"Oh…" He scratches at his jaw, looking up at Atsumu with wide, concerned eyes. "It's just — something just feels weird, I guess, between you two." 

"Pretty sure it's because we're tired," Atsumu says, shrugging. 

"Ah. Okay." He stands there, as if waiting for something else. 

"Do you need anything else?" Atsumu asks, trying to make sure none of his frustration comes out. Shoyo's a good kid; definitely doesn't deserve Atsumu taking out his issues on him. 

"Oh, uh, no! Sorry!" he says, then scampers off, and Atsumu lets out a long, slow exhale, trying to focus on practice. 

A couple more people come up to 'subtly' check in on him — Bokuto failing miserably at even an attempt at subtlety, and Meian definitely gets some points for trying — and Atsumu responds to them the same way. A quick smile, denial, and then a gentle dismissal. 

All throughout this, he can feel Omi's eyes on him. 

After practice ends, Atsumu volunteers to help clean up — he knows Omi will take a shower first, probably leave first, so Atsumu will leave last. 

When he's done, he goes into the locker room to find it empty and he takes a quick shower, leaning his forehead against his locker after he's put on his clothes, allowing himself to finally feel the exhaustion of pretending everything's okay. 

It still hurts so _much_. 

With a deep breath, he pushes himself off the lockers and grabs his bag, and he's barely out the door when he hears it: "Miya." 

Atsumu freezes, eyes widening. No. _No_. He makes a move to continue walking, and then: "Atsumu." 

Atsumu whips around at that to see Omi leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on Atsumu. He tilts his head. Atsumu looks away.

"Can you come over to my place tonight? We need to talk." 

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHHHHH ok it's done. idk i tried to put in thought in terms of structure/themes/meaning here bc i wanted this piece to be kinda short but encapsulate an evolving relationship still?? like just lil snippets of what's going on, but i wanted to try and create a whole picture usin that. idk if i succeeded alsdfjaslkdjf but it was fun to try!!! 
> 
> also i'd die for osamu ok . 
> 
> BUT YEAH what's omi gonna say ???? WHO KNOWS certainly not me!! put in the ending u want i personally want it to be happy. sooo tempted to to a sequel that's basically this but from omi's pov but we'll see. 
> 
> come chill w me on [twt](http://twitter.com/shrimpheavnnow)!! 
> 
> thank u for readingggg <3333 hope u guys liked it n as always concrit is welcome n kudos/comments are cherished!!


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